


absence only made our hearts grow colder

by likeanchors



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, death of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeanchors/pseuds/likeanchors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes him feel and there is already too many feelings running Louis into the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	absence only made our hearts grow colder

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this fic for a while, a long, long while. Somewhere between baking 5 dozen cookies and drinking 2 pots of tea I decided to finish it and after some wibbling here it is. Title comes from Carissa's Wierd. Thank you Alex and Kathy for being the brave souls who read it first and didn't hate it completely.

The shadows across the ceiling move lazily as Louis blinks steadily. It’s well past midnight but sleep still eludes him. How Harry can softly snore beside him, his fingertips digging almost painfully into Louis’ hip, Louis will never know or understand. Sleep no longer comes as easily or fitfully as it has for the last few years, in fact Louis debates whether or not passing out from exhaustion counts as sleep in the first place. But there is an almost serendipitous joy that spreads out from the jagged fault line that has been carved into Louis’s chest. While Harry sleeps Louis is free of the almost permanent watchful gaze that he has been subjected to for the last three weeks. On the flip side, the melancholy is also free to wreak havoc inside of him. 

  
  
Turning onto his side Louis watches as one of the shadows stretches out like an accusing finger and closes his eyes tight against the wave of nauseating pain that radiates through him. The tears no longer come but the pain is worse than ever. There are moments, long and drawn out, where Louis wonders if they will survive this – if it’s even possible to survive the intensity of their loss. The bed dips slightly as Harry moves in his sleep, a low anguished moan that pushes at Louis in a way it shouldn’t. Swinging his legs over the side Louis pushes himself up and carefully slips out of the bed. He knows without really knowing that Harry will undoubtedly wake soon and come looking for him and that the peaceful but cursed silence will soon be over.

  
  
Louis knows every raise in the carpets and every creaky stair by rote and with eases he is downstairs with barely a sound. The kitchen is his first stop. With practiced ease, Louis stands over the kettle, slipping it off of the burner before it can whistle loud enough to wake Harry. With his tea in hand Louis slowly makes his way into the sitting room. By the couch he hovers for a moment before collapsing into the overstuffed cushions, his knees drawn up underneath him. The tea is scalding hot and burns the tip of Louis’ tongue, the sting a temporary distraction from his own inner demons. Closing his eyes against the cloying silence Louis jumps, spilling some of the contents of his cup, when the clock in the hallway chimes the hour.

  
  
“Louis?”

  
  
Closing his eyes tighter against the intrusion Louis curls tighter in on himself. The sting of hot tea burning his thigh in a way that can only be described as pleasant until it rapidly starts cooling. The haunting familiarity of it breaks something inside of him, something so fragile and unexpected that a great sob billows from between his tightly pursed lips. Harry is at his side in an instant, his warm arms tight around Louis as he pulls the blanket off of the back of the couch to mop up the mess.

  
  
“Make it stop,” Louis begs, his fingers clawing at Harry’s shirt – pushing and pulling in turn as he fights to decide whether he wants his lover closer or further away. “Please, Haz, I can’t.”

  
  
Harry makes the decision for him. There is a degree of familiar tenderness as he plucks the teacup from Louis’ fingers and drags Louis into his lap; an unspoken promise of protection as Louis makes himself as small as he possibly can. The few tears that are left slowly wet the fabric of Harry’s shirt and Louis finds that this makes him feel even worse, his own great heaving breaths and the overwhelming emotional outpouring in stark relief to Harry’s stoic strength and silence.

  
  
Louis knows though. It was Harry who reacted first. It had been Harry’s grief that had been such a raw and tangible thing that it had eaten up all the space in the room and threatened to overwhelm them all. Louis had watched with a stony façade that only years of cultivating could maintain as the tiny body of his son had been poked and prodded, shocked and finally covered. Harry had railed while Louis stood by. Harry had screamed while Louis had been silent. Harry had cried while Louis calmly held his hand. But Louis had not slept. Louis could not sleep and it was a week before he cried. Once the floodgates had opened, Louis had fallen in upon himself, drowning slowly in the grief and silence that had engulfed their home.

  
  
Harry’s lips are soft against Louis’s brow, his hands steady and soothing at his back.

  
“I can’t do this, Harry. It’s too much.”

  
Harry’s only reaction is to tighten his arms. The funeral had been and gone. Louis had mechanically made the decisions that had been necessary: Flowers, clothing and a headstone. His sister, Felicite, had contacted the relevant people to let them know what had happened. Harry’s mother, Anne, and his mother, Johanna, had been left to do what else was necessary. Harry had slept and Louis had watched - detached and cold - while Harry retreated into dreams and he was left with the bitter, harsh reality that they had been plunged into.

  
  
Carefully Harry guides Louis’ face towards his using his thumb and forefinger to keep Louis from turning his chin. Harry’s lips are unbelievably soft and sweet and also a bitter reminder of their loss. The sob that was lodged in Louis’s throat is quickly swallowed by Harry’s eager mouth that opens itself over Louis’.

  
  
Other than the hand holding and the leaning into each other to draw strength from one another Louis and Harry haven’t touched since before it happened. Louis times everything so that they don’t see each other undressed or he deftly moves aside when it looks like Harry might be coming too close. Louis knows that Harry thinks he is punishing him for what happened but the truth is he’s protecting himself. Harry makes him feel and there is already too much feeling running Louis into the ground.

  
  
It’s on the tip of Louis’s tongue. _James_. His name is heavier than lead and tastes as bitter as poison. Louis can feel it rising, the need to lash out; the unenviable need to hurt and destroy something – someone – anything. It’s there right below the surface as Harry cradles his jaw and holds him tighter, as if Harry knows that Louis is about to flee. The anger, confusion, hurt and longing morph into one giant feeling and Louis can feel himself drowning. He can feel it crashing down over him and dragging him under. But Harry’s there, holding him tight, keeping him safe. Harry is Louis’s anchor and Louis claws at him.

  
  
Louis isn’t careful, he knows that. His hands slip under Harry’s shirt and his nails scratch at Harry’s pale golden skin leaving angry red welts that are dotted with blood. Louis overbalances in his fight for dominance and they tumble to the floor in a heap, colourful cushions strewn across the sitting room. Harry is compliant – too compliant for Louis’s liking which only serves to make him rougher than he usually would be. Nastily Louis bites Harry’s lip, a smirk twisting the very corner of his lips when the warm salty/copper taste hits his tongue. It’s enough to spur Harry into action and they both claw at each other’s bodies until Harry catches Louis’ shoulders and pins him to the ground.

  
  
Their eyes meet and Louis can see something in Harry’s eyes that he’s never seen before. It looks like fear but it could be something else. The intensity of the emotion reminds him of the day James was born and the overpowering fear that had bounced between them for what had felt like an age until they had heard the wet mewling that had come from the tiny infant.

  
  
Louis watches Harry carefully as he slowly leans in and he realises that it is mostly his fault that Harry looks as if he’s been wounded. Harry’s lips return to his slow and painfully sweet, imploring at the same time. It’s easy, too easy, to kiss Harry back. Louis’s mouth opens under Harry’s, his tongue gently massaging Louis’s. They shouldn’t be doing this. Guilt swells in Louis’s stomach – bitter, hot and resentful – churning and curdling until it’s overtaken by Harry’s teeth, tongue and lips.

  
  
“Shouldn’t,” Louis manages to gasp before Harry seals his lips over Louis’ once again, nimble fingers quick against the thin cotton of his t-shirt and sleep trousers. Harry’s hands become insistent, losing the gentleness and carefulness he had been using only moments ago. Louis cannot help but sigh into the fervid kisses; the distance between them at the moment is both non-existent and vast. The heated whisper of long forgotten endearments rent the air along with their harsh breathing. Closing his eyes Louis lifts his hips and closes his eyes at the forgotten familiarity of Harry’s spit slicked fingers pressing into him.

  
  
Electricity passes through him alighting every nerve ending, the over-stimulation creating tunnel vision. All he can see is Harry and all he can think of is what Harry is currently doing to him. Useless words fall from his lips followed by breathy moans and Harry’s whispered encouragement. All too soon and not soon enough the slicked, fat, blunt head of Harry’s cock is pushing, stretching and pushing and all thought is gone. There is nothing but this feeling, this moment.

  
  
Harry stills forcing Louis to focus until their eyes meet. Harry’s green eyes are still bright with the same emotion as earlier but it is now chased by lust, the sight of Harry’s pupils dilating is enough to make Louis groan and roll his hips. Harry muffles his own reply by burying his face into Louis’s throat and thrusts steadily but slowly. It takes a moment but Louis understands what is happening. The thickening in his throat that makes it hard to swallow is now warring for attention with the warmth pooling in his belly.

  
  
Harry slows again and presses nipping kisses to the column of Louis’s throat, the pleasant sting followed by soothing laves from Harry’s tongue. Tilting his head back to allow Harry more access Louis can’t help but to tilt his hips up, desperate for Harry to move again. “Love you, Lou,” the words are whispered softly against the curve of Louis’s jaw, Harry’s voice catching. “So much.” Closing his eyes against the all too familiar burn of tears Louis presses one of his ankles into the curve of Harry’s arse, uses his hands to pull Harry closer.

  
  
It doesn’t take long after that. Harry comes first, his hand and mouth joining in a combined effort to bring Louis to the brink and slowly push him over. Harry’s hands are soothing against Louis’s fevered skin; slowly they wash over the gentle swells of muscle until Louis’s breathing evens out. Clearing his throat Louis waits until Harry slowly lifts his body from Louis’s and sits up. Pushing himself up Louis sits beside Harry without looking at him. Everything is hovering in his periphery. What they’ve just done. What they’re dealing with. The condolence cards in the basket by the door. Everything. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands Louis bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed.

  
  
With a heavy sigh Louis pushes himself up enough to reach for his trousers. Harry’s hand wraps around Louis’s wrist, his fingers tight enough to bruise.

  
  
“Talk to me,” Harry’s voice is rough and a little raspy from what Louis supposes is emotion.

  
  
Louis stills like an animal caught in the headlight. What is there to say that isn’t going to cut like a knife? Louis can only ask so many times if Harry would like a cuppa or The Daily Mail. Everything else is too much effort, it just hurts too much.

  
“Please, Lou-” Harry’s voice catches on his name. The words carry a desperate edge and Louis hazards a glance at Harry. His eyes are rimmed red now and he now looks downright terrified. “I can’t lose you too. Please, don’t cut me out. Please.”

  
  
Steeling himself against the wave of nausea that bubbles up Louis’s fingers automatically reach out to curl around Harry’s. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

  
  
Louis can hear the frustration in Harry’s sigh, before he can allow Harry to rebut Louis shifts his grip to hold onto Harry tighter. Lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s, Louis stands and tugs lightly on Harry’s hand. “I promise I’ll talk tomorrow,” Louis’ throat goes dry at the thought. “Can we just go to sleep first, Haz? Please?”

  
  
Louis can see Harry swallow hard before he nods and stands as well. Quietly they both make their way back to the bedroom. This time Louis curls into Harry’s side and wraps his arms across Harry’s chest while Harry tightens his arm across Louis’s shoulder and presses his lips to Louis’ hair.

  
  
For the first time in three weeks Louis manages to fall asleep without the help of pure exhaustion or Harry slipping a sleeping pill into his dinner.


End file.
